


Long Overdue

by Sarren



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Lewis Spring Challenge 2019, M/M, friday night is date night, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 01:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: A random quote inspires a long overdue conversation.





	Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-divergent around S6, after Robbie and Laura's first attempt at dating petered out.
> 
> The quote in the fic is by Richelle E. Goodrich.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to the awesome wendymr for betaing.

One of the barmen is writing on a chalkboard sign near the door in neat copperplate script. Robbie’s not really watching him, he’s idly sipping his pint, waiting for James to arrive. James’s screen had frozen before he’d finished submitting his report. Robbie’d been prepared to wait for him, but it had been a long day for them both and James had insisted he go ahead, get the drinks in. He wouldn’t be long, he said, as though they both weren’t well aware that it could be anywhere from five minutes to half an hour. Rebooting the work computers was often frustratingly time consuming.

The words take shape on the dusty grey background. Robbie had been expecting some Millennial humour, some witticism about the state of the world, or some unfunny joke off the internet. But this. This is poetry.

_The first real day of spring is like the first time a boy hold’s your hand. A flood of skin-tingling warmth consumes you, and everything shines with a fresh, colourful glow, making you forget that anything as cold and harsh as winter ever existed.  
_

And it brings back memories Robbie’s all but left behind him. It’s been a long time since he thought about Keith.

 

James notices the board before he’s even sat down. He winces.

“I was going to mention it to the barman before you got here. Spare you the pain. Since it’s in your line of vision an’ all.”

They both look around at the complete lack of staff members in sight. “Fortune favours the bold,” James murmurs. He strides over to the board and erases the misplaced possessive apostrophe.

“My hero,” Robbie says mock-admiringly.

James executes a half-bow, and then slides into his seat.

“Lovely sentiment, mind,” Robbie says nodding towards the board. “Go on then, who wrote it?”

“No idea.”

Robbie puts a suitably gobsmacked expression on his face.

James leans back in his chair, and just looks at him. Only someone who knows him very well would see the smile lurking in his eyes. Which, as far as Robbie knows, is just him and maybe Laura. That can’t be right though, the lad must have other friends that he spends time with, family, even if he doesn’t talk about them. He’s not really one for deep -and-meaningfuls, his sergeant.

“I remember the first time you held my hand,” Robbie says, “Can’t say I remember any skin-tingling or glowing happening.”

“Sir?” James is taking a sip of the pint Robbie got in for him, looking up at Robbie through his lashes.

“Waiting to speak to the headmaster of that posh school. You wouldn’t shove the cat off so you could sit down, insisted there was plenty of room, ended up half in me lap.” He pauses a beat. “You, not the cat.”

“It was a nice cat.”

“No wonder that headmaster thought we were members of what did he say, a ‘broad church’?”

“I think he said that the school was a broad church.”

“Bloody euphemism, is what it was. Smug git.”

James takes another sip of his pint. The share plate of seafood Robbie’d taken a fancy to when he’d seen it on the specials board arrives. James gives him a speaking look.

“What?” Robbie says innocently. “It’s not all fried.”

The server puts the bowl of hot chips in front of them.

“Uh huh.” But James reaches over and takes a couple of chips and pops them into his mouth with gusto.

“Just seemed like the weather for it.”

Outside the rain batters the windows. James’s hair is still damp from the run from his car. Robbie’s dry enough, he’d got the umbrella out, but he’s taken his damp shoes off under the table and the warmth from the fire nearby is drying his socks nicely.

It’s been a miserable day all round. They’d finally tracked down the murderer, and it was never a pleasant job, but this one had been more than usually petty and mean, killing a pensioner for a few thousand quid under his mattress. 

But now he’s sat in their favourite pub, toasty warm with posh fish and chips and a pint, and with his sergeant, who for some reason seems to prefer spending his off duty time with Robbie rather than friends his own age, or (as far as Robbie’s aware) a romantic partner.

James clears his throat. “If you don’t mind my asking…”

“Go on.”

“Was it like that with Mrs Lewis?” His eyes flick to the chalkboard.

“Well it wasn’t spring, for a start.”

James takes another sip of his pint. He doesn’t say anything. He’s giving Robbie space, to answer or not. Robbie could turn the subject with a joke about James holding his hand again, or just change the subject completely and James would let it go.

He smiles, warmth suffusing him at the memory. “It was lovely. Not sure about all that poetic stuff, mind, but I do remember how hard my heart was beating when I took her hand. I was nervous. I think I was holding my breath, which would explain the light-headed feeling, but when she clasped my hand back and smiled at me, there was this feeling of rightness, you know?”

“It sounds lovely.”

“It was.”

James leans forward and transfers a share of the grilled fish and octopus onto his plate and the garnish masquerading as salad, and then, with a cut of his eyes towards Robbie, a handful of the chips. Robbie’s happy to eat the rest: 'what’s the point of pub fish and chips if it’s not battered’ is his motto.

“What about you, then?”

“Mostly I remember sweaty palms.”

“Romantic.”

“Surprisingly not so much. I mean, it’s not that it wasn’t nice, I liked her a lot. There just weren’t the bluebirds singing and sunshine glowing or whatever.”

Her. It had been a girl, then. Robbie hadn’t liked to assume. Then again, maybe James’s reaction raised the question again, or provided the answer. Oh hell, he’s more in the dark than ever.

“Did you ever meet someone to whom that description applied?”

James sits back in his chair and regards Robbie contemplatively. Robbie wonders if this is the moment, if James will finally confide in him. He finds himself leaning forward, and wonders at his own eagerness. Is it just that he’s a detective and doesn’t like not knowing the answer, or because James has been his bagman and confidante for long enough that he considers him a friend?

But then James smiles at him, a seemingly carefree grin. “That would be telling.”

“Yes, my lad, that is what answering a question is,” Robbie says, a bit exasperatedly. Oh well, can’t say he’s hasn’t tried to be a, whatchamacallit, a supportive ear.

On the other hand, is it fair to expect James to confide his darkest secrets (assuming he does have any) to Robbie, when Robbie hasn’t been entirely transparent himself? Feeling unaccountably nervous—it was a century ago, it felt like, and he knows James’s opinion on the subject well enough—Robbie clears his throat. “My first kiss though, that sort of fit the bill. I’d had no idea, you see, I’d been all about rugby and music….”

“Given your taste in music, I’m picturing a long haired beardy Robbie Lewis.”

“Oi, you, they weren’t the only band I liked I’ll have you know.”

“Pink Floyd...Jethro Tull...” James suggests.

“Them and all. I suppose I did have long hair, at that. No beard, though.”

“Shame,” James murmurs, and a gleeful smile is hovering about the corners of his mouth. Robbie resolves to never, ever let James see that photo of him and his mates at the Midnight Addition concert. He’d been not quite 17, and planning on joining the Force even then. That’d been a hell of a trip. Him and Keith and Kathleen and Sally. He’d had his eye on Sally, was planning on asking her out. He’d had no idea quite what a... revelation... that weekend would turn out to be.

 

_They’d been walking back to their hotel, skipping really, still on a high, talking about what a fab time they’d had. The girls had pulled ahead, giggling to each other about which band member was the more dreamy, Richie or Franco._

_Robbie had had felt a hand slip into his and squeeze gently, and Robbie had looked at Keith, at the half-scared, half-determined expression on his face, and at that moment it had felt shockingly right. He liked Keith, admired him even, and the skin on his palms tingled where it met Keith’s._

_And later, when the door of the hotel room had closed behind them, and Keith had taken his hand again, and pulled him over to the nearest bed, that scared-determined expression back on his face, Robbie had let himself be pulled._

 

James is saying something.

“Sorry,” Robbie says. “Miles away, what was that?”

James is looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Good memories, going by that dreamy expression. Remembering a misspent youth, were you?”

“Oh, get away with you,” Robbie grumbles. “And I’ll have another pint, since you’re asking.”

“Your wish is my command,” James quips, and gets up. Robbie reaches over and nabs the last few chips off his plate while he’s gone. James eyes his empty plate when he gets back, drinks in hand, but just shakes his head and looks amused.

Once their plates have been cleared, they argue about whether or not to split a dessert—the sticky toffee pudding is magic at this pub. James always insists he just wants a bite and that getting two would be a waste, and then inhales most of the bowl while Robbie’s still on his third spoonful.

James wins the argument, mostly because the weather’s worsened. The wind is rattling the windows and the clattering of hail against the glass panes is loud enough to be heard over the general pub chatter. Robbie’s warm by the fire and has no intention of going anywhere so they’ve got time to order another dessert (or three) if they fancy another.

It’s his favourite way to spend a Friday evening and he’s pretty sure James feels the same; he’s never in a hurry to get home. Unless he’s got a gig on, he’ll happily nurse his two beers for as long as Robbie wants to stay of an evening.

“So, you were telling me about your first kiss,” James points out.

“Was I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was after a Midnight Addiction concert,” Robbie admits, and then pauses for the inevitable smartarse comment.

James’s eyes are positively alight with glee, but he just looks at Robbie’s own expectant expression and shakes his head slowly. “Go on.”

“It was, I think, about a week before my seventeenth birthday. My da let me go to Liverpool to see them. Paid for a hotel room and everything. There were four of us, another lad—a pal of mine, Keith—and two girls, Sally and Kathleen. They had their own room, of course.”

_Robbie’d put on a tight embroidered shirt he’d bought for the occasion, feeling rebellious and giddy at the freedom of staying in another town, away from anyone who knew him._

“We got dressed up, smoked some pot—”

James puts a hand to his heart, as if shocked. “You rebel.”

Robbie smiles into the beer he’s holding and takes a swig. “Let’s just say, it was a wild weekend.”

“I am absolutely agog to find out what else teenage Robbie Lewis got up to besides women, drugs and rock’n’roll.” 

James is leaning forward in his chair, smirking now. Robbie looks at him and feels a rush of affection for his sergeant that warms him as much as the heat from the nearby hearth fire.

“Ah, have to leave some mystery, don’t I?”

James nods towards the chalkboard. “You brought it up. At least tell me which of your fair companions made the world colourful and your body skin-tingly warm.”

And completely out of nowhere, the answer appears in his mind so clearly that for a moment Robbie thinks he said it out loud: _You._

Jesus. What a moment for a revelation.

And then, because apparently this was the moment for self-truths: _That’s why it didn’t feel right with Laura._

With the sort of timing that never happens outside of a film, their sticky toffee pudding arrives. One portion, two spoons.

 

Robbie watches James dive into the dessert while he himself takes his time, as usual. It’s like any other night and Robbie can almost convince himself that this is the end of it, that James isn’t going to push for any more details. And if Robbie brings it up again, it’ll be obvious, won’t it, that he’s only mentioning it to try and get James to open up? Might have the opposite effect: make the lad clam right up.

Except for how James is keeping one eye on Robbie in a pointed sort of way.

Robbie puts down his spoon and pushes the half-eaten dessert towards James, who doesn’t need to be told twice and digs in more vigorously. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“You’ve trained me too well, sir.”

“And if I don’t tell you?”

“I’ll be forced to move on to more advanced interrogation techniques.”

“Such as?”

“Er… how are you at drunken confessions?”

“That might work,” Robbie admits. He looks at James's half full glass. "Another for you while I'm up?"

“I wasn’t serious,” James says, when Robbie looks back at him.

“I didn’t think you were,” Robbie says mildly. “But we’re not in a hurry, are we? Warm fire, good company….”

“Indeed.”

Robbie takes a deep breath. “It was Keith.”

“You mean—”

“The skin-tinglin’, the warmth, the colourful glow. All of it.”

James blinks, his expression blank in that way that means he’s processing information he’s finding difficult to parse. “Your first kiss was with a boy,” he finally says, slowly, as if he’s not sure he’s understood correctly.

“First everything, as long as I’m baring my soul, like.”

“Everything?” James repeats faintly.

“Well, maybe not everything,” Robbie says, because everything encompasses a lot, doesn’t it? “We were 16, remember.”

“I….” James looks at a loss for words. Not an expression Robbie’s accustomed to seeing on his sergeant’s face. “Thank you for telling me,” he says finally.

“Should have told you long ago,” Robbie says, and he doesn’t get more specific but he doesn’t need to, he’s pretty sure James too is thinking of that time they were sat in the car, when Robbie had asked James, asked him point blank.

He doesn’t say anything though, only sips his pint and after a while Robbie realises he isn’t going to say anything else. He should probably feel relieved about that.

 

  
It changes things. Only not in a way Robbie would ever have expected.

James flirts with him now.

Not just when they’re off the clock, either. In the office, when they’re stopped for lunch, or in the car… even when there are other people present. He keeps expecting Laura to say something, or for people to give them odd looks, and he’s watching for it, but Laura doesn’t seem to notice—no one seems to notice—and eventually Robbie realises that James hasn’t started flirting with him. James is behaving exactly the way he always has, at least since they got closer, became more than guvnor and bagman.

The only thing that has changed is him.

Because he’s been so blasted self-conscious he’s not been responding the way he used to, when he was oblivious, when he though they were just mates, that it was just banter.

The thought occurs to him that perhaps he’s mistaken, that it’s a generational thing, that what he considers to be flirting, is just the way Young People relate to each other. But he can’t bring himself to believe that James smiles at anyone else the way he smiles at Robbie, that he lets anyone else into his personal space, his confidence, his trust.

And it’s James’s response to his lack of response that convinces him he’s right. He can see the puzzlement in his blue eyes, the hurt, and he sees the way James withdraws into himself. Sees him becoming the self-contained, polite, efficient sergeant that Robbie had met going on six years ago.

“I’m buying dinner,” Robbie says, on the Friday, when it’s getting on to knocking off time.

“Actually, sir, I have other plans.”

“Nope.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Friday night is our night,” Robbie states, “unless you have a gig on.” Unless, maybe James actually does? “Do you?” he asks, looking directly at James.

James hesitates and for a horrible moment Robbie thinks James is going to lie to him, but then he visibly deflates. Robbie watches his shoulders slump. “No, sir.”

“Well, then. I’ll even let you choose the dessert.”

James’s eyebrows draw together, and he looks like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how.

Robbie waits.

“I’m surprised you want to,” James finally says, addressing the elephant in the room more directly than Robbie would have expected, given the lad’s… history.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry about that, and if you’ll let me, I’ll explain when we’re,” Robbie glances around. “not here.”

For the first time in days, James smiles at him.

 

They’re early enough that their favourite table is still empty and they take their place by the fire. Robbie picks up the menu immediately; he’s hoping James will let him get food down him before he has to bare his soul again. His stomach is churning in a way that doesn’t bode well for his ability to eat much, though.

James is clearly doing his best to act like this is just like any other Friday, although Robbie can see he’s still tense by the way he rolls his shoulders when he thinks Robbie isn’t paying attention. They make desultory conversation over dinner, something about Gurdip’s girlfriend troubles. Robbie looks up to see James watching him. James smiles reassuringly. Robbie finds his appetite returning and tucks into his Guinness Pie. 

His trepidation returns as the waiter clears their plates. It was one thing to ‘fess up to his youthful experimentation when it was in the spirit of solidarity, a way of letting James know he understood, would support him, accept him. It’s something else entirely after the revelations of the week—of his own feelings, which he’s still wrestling with—and on top of that, the possibility that James might feel the same.

Robbie stares into the fire. He’s still not sure this is a good idea. What if he’s got it wrong and ends up ruining their professional relationship, or worse, their friendship?

He can feel eyes on him, but James still doesn’t say anything.

Dessert arrives. It’s Tiramisu: James’s choice. It comes in a long narrow glass and seems more intimate… more ‘coupley’ than merely slicing away pieces from opposite sides of a plate. They have to lean closer to delve down through the layers of cake and cream.

It’s bit rich for his taste, so after a few spoonfuls Robbie sits back and leaves James to it. He picks up his neglected pint and takes a sip, then sits nursing it as James scrapes the remains of the dessert from the sides of the glass. He watches as James’s tongue darts out to lick the last of the cream from the side of the spoon and an unexpected curl of heat suffuses him.

Because of course he does, James looks up before he can avert his gaze. He doesn’t know what expression is on his face but whatever it is, it’s enough to arrest James’s attention and Robbie feels like the proverbial rabbit in headlights as James, very slowly, smiles.

“Look, I wanted to apologise again for this last week,” he says in a rush. “I’ve had a lot on me mind.”

The smile fades. “I could tell.”

“So, I’m sorry if I behaved—” 

“Like someone who finally figured out that their subordinate has inappropriate feelings for them and is reluctant to embarrass them both by addressing the issue?”

“That’s a generous interpretation.”

James doesn’t look like he agrees. His mouth is turned down, his brows drawn together and he’s not meeting Robbie’s eyes.

“And I wouldn’t say ‘inappropriate’. At least not in the way I think you’re meanin’ it.” 

James does look up then. “I think you’ll need to explain what _you_ mean,” he says slowly.

“I mean, ‘inappropriate’ because of our working relationship, not because of… any other considerations.”

“Oh,” James says. He doesn’t look like the answer has cheered him up much.

Robbie leans forward and puts down his glass and then, taking a deep, fortifying breath, he put his hand over James’s where it’s resting on the table.

James stares at Robbie’s hand on top of his. Very slowly, as if he can’t quite believe he’s doing it, he turns his hand under Robbie’s and laces their fingers together.

“I have a confession to make,” Robbie says.

“Oh?”

“Last week, when you asked me which of my companions made my world colourful, all I could think of was you, and it threw me.”

James’s expression is one of cautious wonder. Robbie feels a sense of awe himself, that they’re sat here like this. He’s not the free-spirited youth he was the last time a boy held his hand, but the sense of rightness, of joy, that’s the same.

“And the skin-tingling part?” 

“That an’ all.”

James’s expression turns intent. His eyes drop to Robbie’s mouth and he leans towards him. Robbie feels his heart rate kick up and the breath leaves him in a rush. James is leaning closer. Robbie’s mouth parts…he’s going to…

There’s a sudden cheer from somewhere behind them, and the sound of a crowd roaring from the football game on the telly over the bar.

James blinks, as though being recalled to a sense of their surroundings. He stops moving and Robbie knows that he’s going to lean back, he going to be sensible, they’re in a public place. To hell with that, Robbie thinks recklessly. He reaches out with his free hand and curls it lightly around James’s nape, just lightly, nothing James couldn’t pull away from in a moment. But James isn’t moving. James’s blue eyes are fixed on Robbie again, and it’s clear from his arrested expression that he’s forgotten all about the distraction and when Robbie leans forward the last few inches James’s lips part. If Robbie had had any doubt at all about whether they’re right together that doubt is dispelled the moment their mouths meet in the tide of heat and tenderness that surges through him.

He breaks the kiss after a few moments, only because if he doesn’t his reaction is going to be more obvious than he’s comfortable with in a public setting. James tips his head so that their foreheads rest together, and his panting breath mingles with Robbie’s own. “Let’s go home,” James murmurs.

He doesn’t specific whose flat he’s referring to, but it doesn’t matter. “Yes,” Robbie agrees. “Home.”


End file.
